


From Asgard to New York

by Discreet



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Starts platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:33:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22935640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Discreet/pseuds/Discreet
Summary: A powerless Hela crash-lands on Earth after the destruction of Asgard.She's weakened, lost and confused, but thankfully there's friendly neighborhood Aunt May to help out.
Relationships: Hela/May Parker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	From Asgard to New York

The explosion flung her into space. It was a momentous explosion, cosmic in its scale, it defied all law and logic.

Her flight was equally impossible, outrunning light and passing through star systems in the blink of an eye. She soared through galaxy after galaxy until finally, through the vast stretch of empty space that was space, she hit something.

Hela coughed out a dustball and turned over on her side. Her hand pressed into dirt and grass threaded between her fingers. It was wet with dew.

Hela coughed again and opened her eyes.

Hela was not on Asgard anymore. She had landed in a field, only lightly scorched from her galaxy-spanning impact. The scorch-marks… they were old Asgardian script before even Hela's time. They were the signs of the Bifrost.

Hela rose to her feet. Her armor was in tatters and her helmet blown off, but as for the rest of her…

She ran a hand over her body, feeling for bloody wounds or limbs lost, but there were none. She was whole and unharmed.

"Ha," she laughed once. And she would've laughed again, her survival so miraculous as to be hilarious, but then the coughing fit returned and Hela, Goddess of Death was brought to her knees, hands to her mouth.

The joy of survival disappeared with each shuddering breath and hacking cough.

Eventually, the fit passed, but a worse feeling took its place.

Hela was not on Asgard anymore.

She reached for it, her ancestral home and the well of her power. Out of all of her family, she had always been the most connected to Asgard.

But it was gone.

Her strength, her immortality, and the blades that had always been by her side had all been taken away.

"Fools," she whispered. Thor, Loki, _all of them_. They had destroyed _everything_ simply to deny her her birthright.

"Fools," she hissed, louder this time and rose again to her feet. She would have her vengeance. Her brothers' heads on spikes. That, she swore.

Hela scowled and looked around a little more.

She really had _no idea_ where she was. This was a very big field.

Grumbling about traitors and idiots, Hela picked a direction and walked.

\---

Hela came to a paved road. Striped twice on the border, once dotted in the middle. She hoped desperately that wasn't what passed for language on this planet. Nevertheless, this was _definitely_ a road and so once again, Hela picked a direction and walked.

\---

A metal hunk hummed up the road, and Hela eyed it warily. It was a wagon of some sort. Armored from top to bottom, though it had wide glass windows. A man sat at the helm, and he stared at her with wide eyes.

Fear.

Hela smiled. That was good. That was something she could use.

"Halt!" she cried out at the metal wagon. "Stop before the Goddess of Death!"

The metal wagon sped past her.

"I said halt!" Hela yelled at the rear of the wagon, fast shrinking. "Insolent whelp! Come back here!"

The wagon was gone.

Hela ground her teeth together and tried to summon a blade to impale the wagon with, but nothing came.

Cursing under her breath, Hela swore she would have her vengeance on the man in the metal wagon as well.

Grumbling again, she turned and walked the way the wagon had gone.

\---

The second time a metal wagon hummed up the road, Hela decided not to the mention the "Goddess of Death" part. And when she yelled, it wasn't "Halt!" but a "Hail, traveller!"

A sweeter touch, Hela was quite capable of it. Diplomacy was the prelude to every war, after all.

She still had the touch, too. This time, the wagon slowed to a stop, and its window parted open to reveal a woman at the helm

"Hi," said the woman. She had a half-smile on her face, lip quirked and one eyebrow cocked, as if she suspected some trick or ploy. "You… uh… need a lift?"

Hela forced on a smile. "No, but a ride would be appreciated."

The woman laughed, why exactly, Hela did not know. It did not matter, because whatever Hela had said was enough. The woman gave a little wave and said, "Come on, get in."

Hela kept the smile on as she boarded the wagon. "You have my gratitude."

The woman smiled. "Hey, don't mention it."

The wagon sped up to a modest pace, and soon the grass fields blurred along the sidelines.

“So.” The woman said. “You from around here?”

Hela eyed the woman suspiciously. She clearly wasn’t Asgardian. Too weak. Preambling with so’s and uh’s. There was not an ounce of warrior spirit in the woman’s blue eyes, hidden as they were behind glass spectacles. And her hair, long and unwieldy, draped past her shoulders like a fool’s red cape.

Too weak to be Asgardian, not ugly enough to be a Dark Elf, and not blue, which left only a few options.

Midgard.

“No,” Hela said, “I am simply… passing through.”

“Cool.” The woman nodded. “Cool, cool, cool.”

She attempted to make a sidelong glance, but Hela caught it and stared her down.

The woman coughed. “So, uh. Is there like a convention in the area? An event?”

Hela’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you know. Your costume. Or sorry, your armor — very cool, by the way. But that’s why you’re dressed up, right? Because of a convention?”

“Is that normal for this world? Dressing up for ‘conventions’?”

“Not for me, but I guess you could say it’s normal for some people.”

It would do for a cover story, for now, at least. “Then yes,” Hela said, “I am dressed up for a convention.”

“See, I thought so. I gotta say, I’m impressed with the costume, but also…” the woman lifted one hand from the wheel and waved it in Hela’s direction. “ _This_. Getting into a suit _that_ tight? Really incredible. Like wow.”

If only more were like this Midgardian.

“So who are you supposed to be dressed up as?”

A nonsense question. “Myself, of course,” Hela said.

“Oh, so like an original character? A lot more people have been doing that, right?” The woman nodded along to her own question and went on. “So what do you call yourself?”

Hela could not lie here. Not for who she was. “Hela,” she said, “Goddess of Death.”

“ _Hella_?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm. Bit on the nose, don’t you think?”

Hela frowned. “What bit whose nose?”

“Huh?”

"What is it?"

Hela stared at the woman and the woman stared back.

Grass flashed by in the windows, the wagon humming as it sped along the road.

“Okay, let’s just start over,” said the woman, breaking the silence. “Hella. Goddess of Death. It’s nice to meet you. I’m May. Not a goddess of anything.”

Humility and humor were qualities Hela could appreciate, especially when they were paired together. With a hint of humor of her own, Hela replied, “Well met, May, not-a-goddess-of-anything.”

May laughed. “Well met, indeed!”

Hela could not help but let out a smile. Not a forced one, not a smirk, but a real smile.

As far as Midgardians went, this May was not bad.


End file.
